


your built composure's wearing thin

by beware_of_you



Series: only love [3]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: F/F, Hotch actually is human believe it or not, JJ spirals, JJ's such a good mom tho, Sorry Will, Will doesn't have rights in this, everyone is sad, hurts my heart, it's sad, nothing is fair, there's drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25492318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beware_of_you/pseuds/beware_of_you
Summary: emily's "funeral" and how jj barely manages to keep up appearances
Relationships: Jennifer "JJ" Jareau/Emily Prentiss
Series: only love [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838533
Comments: 7
Kudos: 67





	your built composure's wearing thin

**Author's Note:**

> felt like I owed ya'll two in one day bc the second part of this series had to be rewritten

Emily would have hated her "funeral" JJ thinks bitterly as she stands around the open grave in the cemetery. It isn't at _all_ what she would have wanted.

There's a black casket that the men on the team carried, sitting supported on green lowering straps over a hole that's twelve feet deep. (A morbid part of her want to go up and ask Hotch what the hell is really in the casket because they both know it's not Emily).

Everyone is dressed in all black, sobbing profusely as a priest (she has to grit her teeth because of fucking course he's a _catholic_ priest) gives a speech about Emily. It's probably the same generic speech he gives at all services like this, only adding a few personally touches in about who Emily was as a person (like he would really even _know_ ).

Even though it's not really _real,_ it pisses her off that Emily's wishes aren't being followed.

But her will wasn't in writing, and all the arrangements had fallen into Elizabeth Prentiss' lap. Even if JJ had tried to talk to the woman about what Emily _really_ wanted the service to be like, it didn't matter. It's what _Ambassador Prentiss_ decides is best to give her daughter a proper burial.

Emily would be devastated.

How long was JJ's list of failures now? She feels like it's a heavy cloak hanging on her shoulder that threatens to suffocate her at any moment. She's like a rubber band pulled taut, white, thin and stretched out at the edges. All she needs is that small _push_ to send her in a downward spiral.

The team all gather at Rossi's house after the service, but it's downright depressing and miserable, so unlike other gatherings they've had before. Penelope and Spencer have tears streaming down their faces, eyes red and puffy. Derek is stone cold and completely unreachable, his hand balled into a fist at his side.

Ashley looks completely lost and distraught, a haunted look in her eyes. JJ recognizes it anywhere— it's the "what the hell am I still doing here" look. She's seen the same look in Elle's eyes just before she quit, wouldn't blame Seaver for calling it quits like Elle either. She knows the young woman is trying to keep herself together, to stay at the BAU for just a _bit_ longer because the team can't afford to lose anyone else right now.

Rossi sits at his dining room table with a glass of Emily's favorite scotch poured out in a glass in front of him. He pushes it around absentmindedly, face reading nothing but complete _grief._ JJ wonders if he's thinking about what he could have done better, how he could have prevented anything like this happening.

She knows she is.

Hotch is completely unreadable to her. He's just _standing_ there with his arms folded across his chest. He shows no grief, no sorrow. It's like he's a fucking _robot_. It's not _fair_. Everyone else is suffering and he has the nerve to just stand there and look like nothing is bothering him.

She avoids even looking at him.

Instead, she knocks back a second glass of scotch, barely wincing as it goes down before she pours herself another glass. No one stops her, everything eating away at her conscience only egging her on more. She unsteadily downs a third, pours herself a fourth and sips on it. She has no idea how Emily can stomach this shit. It's absolutely foul.

Emily.

Isn't it ironic, she thinks to herself as she caps the bottle, finally pushing it away from herself. Isn't this just so _ironic_ that everyone is so _god damn sad_ when they don't have a reason to be in the first place? They're mourning over someone that's not even dead. They don't know even know that Emily is really less than twenty-five miles down the road in the hospital's recovery ward.

It's like a cruel, sick joke.

Her head starts to spin as the alcohol quickly works its way into her system. She sways unsteadily, catching herself on the corner of the countertop. She busts her hip on the sharp corner, hand immediately going to cover the intense flare of pain she feels. Instead of crying out, she ends up giggling humorlessly. She's even failing at taking care of herself. It's funny, in a way.

"JJ—"

She harshly shrugs her shoulder, knocking Reid's hand away swiftly. "I'm fine," she snaps. "I'm—I'm fine, okay?"

Reid winces away as if she just slapped him, but she can't find it in her drunken state to care.

"Jennifer," Hotch interrupts, stepping between the two smoothly. "I think we better get you home."

She stares up at him, trying her best to focus on him. "Yes, sir," she mumbles with a mock salute. She slaps his hands away when he holds them out to help her. "Don't touch me! I can walk by myself," she snaps stubbornly, wobbling unsteadily out the door. Hotch only sighs and follows her out, leaving behind the room full of grieving profilers.

"Why don't you care?" she asks him as soon as he pulls away from Rossi's house. "You never act like you do."

Hotch leans up in his seat, checking the intersection both ways before he pulls out on the main road. He doesn't look over at her, his expression the same as it's been all night. She wonders if he really is a god damn robot because he never shows _any_ emotion, like nothing ever gets to him. It's completely infuriating.

"I do care," he finally replies after a few minutes of silence.

"It wouldn't kill you to show it every once in a while," she says, folding her arms across her chest expectantly. Waiting.

His silence is all it takes to finally make her snap.

She's suddenly yelling awful, _horrible_ things at him about Emily, about Doyle, about how all of this is _Hotch's_ fault because he's supposed to be unit chief and he's supposed to _see_ these things from a mile away. His face remains the same. His hands don't even tighten against the wheel.

Tears are streaming down her face at this point, because how the fuck could he have let this _fucking happen?_ He should have been there for her when he needed her and, and— and how she should have fought _harder_ to stay behind for Emily, for the team. She could have stopped this from happening because she would have _known_. Emily had needed her the most and she wasn't even _there_!

She doesn't even realize Hotch had stopped the car until he engulfs her in a tight hug. She immediately falls into his arms, blubbering and incoherently sobbing into his shirt because nothing about this is _fucking_ fair. The rest of the team deserves _better._ Emily deserves _better_. JJ's hurting so many people she _loves_ because she keeps fucking failing at even _being there_ for them.

It's not _fair._

"I know it's not," Hotch murmurs to her, his voice cracking slightly. "I love her, too, JJ. It's hard for me, too."

"No you don't," JJ croaks back stubbornly against his shirt. "Not like I do."

"Not like you," he confirms quietly. "But I care about her deeply, Jennifer, believe me. I wish there was another way to..." He trails off, shoulders haunched in defeat as he pulls away from their embrace. His eyes are distant, completely swallowed by his own grief.

"It's just not fair," JJ hiccups, bringing her knees up to her chest in the seat. "It's not fair."

"You're right. It's not," he agrees quietly, finally pulling onto the main road again.

They don't talk again, even as Hotch pulls up to his house. She's confused until somewhere in her drunk brain she vaguely remembers dropping Henry off here earlier with Jack and Haley's sister.

The thought of her son standing in the middle of the graveyard, of having to explain death to her toddler, especially the "death" of someone he's known his whole life, isn't something she wanted to ever have to deal with. Henry's amazingly perceptive for his age, can tell that something is wrong because everyone around him is so sad. Emily's been around for a majority of his young life, he'll know when she stops coming over to see him that something went horribly wrong.

She's honestly dreading the day when he asks about Emily and she has to tell him, has to pretend like Emily really isn't coming back because it's the safest option. He'll be devastated just like everyone else, and horribly confused because he's still too little to fully grasp the concept of death. She's not looking forward to the day when she has to explain it to him, has to tell him that Emily isn't coming over to read him any bedtime stories, or take him to the park, or sing him his favorite nursery rhyme because she's no longer with them is like a dark shadow looming over her shoulder. She has to act like it's _real_ , has to treat this like it's reality and that Emily really _isn't_ coming back.

The thought of having to lie to her innocent, sweet baby boy, even to keep everyone safe in the long run, makes her sick to her stomach.

JJ allows Hotch to lead her inside and up the stairs to a guest bedroom. She flops down on the cold comforter, facing away from the door as he finally leaves her alone. She stares blankly at the wall, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, allowing her tears to flow freely.

She hears the door crack, tiny feet pad across the carpet and the bed shift lightly under her son's weight. "Momma?"

She flips over to face him, a slight smile appearing on her face automatically. "Hey, baby," she croaks out softly, gently caressing his cheek with her fingers. "Did you have fun with Jack today?"

He ignores the question completely. "Are you sad, momma?" Henry asks innocently, his big blue eyes shining with concern. A frown appears on his brow as he reaches his tiny hands out to wipe her tears away.

She bites down on her lips to stop more tears from falling, nodding slightly. "Yeah, I'm sad," she admits quietly, holding her arms out for him. "But a Henry hug will make me feel a lot better."

Her son immediately goes into her arms, wrapping his tiny arms around her frame and squeezing tightly. Her breath shudders as she holds onto him, hand coming back to cradle his head like she would when he was a baby. "I love you so much," she murmurs to him, voice cracking slightly. She presses a kiss to his temple. "Never ever forget that, okay?"

"I won't, momma," he promises in a tiny voice. "I love you too."

She closes her eyes at his words, exhaling shakily as a fresh new wave of tears begins. He's her entire world and she constantly reminds him of that. She never, _ever_ wants him to feel abandoned by her. His sorry excuse for a father had dipped before he was even born, had abandoned him before he even got the chance to _know_ his son.

She works extra hard to make up for his absence, is twice as determined to ensure her son has as close to a normal life as possible. Which is why it's so _hard_ for her to be so far away from him now. She wishes she could stay like this with him forever, to never have to leave, but knows she can't delay the inevitable. Sooner or later, she has to go and continue the mission she's been assigned to. Sooner or later, she has to once again leave Henry behind.

The thought just makes her grip onto him tighter.


End file.
